


We Who Wander

by hannahetesta



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5204441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahetesta/pseuds/hannahetesta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unsuitable. That seems to be my only defining quality to them. Unsuitable for anything but needlework, insignificant, broken. The future children of this district must be healthy and whole. No one wants a baby with missing limbs.</p>
<p>A crippled girl from District 9 takes refuge with her family in 13, using her talent with sewing to assist Effie Trinket in clothing Katniss Everdeen for her Mockingjay propos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I'm writing for this fandom, so please please PLEASE be kind. I like criticism, but only if it's constructive and if it helps me grow as a writer. I'm being brave and putting this story up but I'm still terrified it's not as good as I hope it to be. If you really liked something or have suggestions on what I could fix, please let me know.

Once upon a time, there were three sisters, born among wheat and dust. They were smuggled under the earth, to a secret place where they could be safe. One saw hope, and she believed the Mockingjay would bring them to freedom. One saw despair, and she believed there would be no end to the war. And one saw the world as broken, but with the potential to be whole again. 

This is the story of my time in District 13, where we couldn't see the sun and everything was grey and steel. Where we thought we could live in peace, if only for a little while. Where I watched my sisters drift apart. 

They don't tell you any of that when you're running away. All they do is strap you into a hovercraft and assure you that where you're going will be an improvement. 

The revolution is about all of us. It makes sense, then, that not everyone is satisfied with the outcome.


	2. Chapter I

“Talia?”

I keep my eyes on the blouse in my hands, the needle making a small tink against the thimble. 

“Talia, it’s time for dinner.”

“I’m close to finishing, Mama.”

I feel my mother’s hand on my shoulder. “The Reaping is still two weeks away. Delphi’s shirt can wait.”

“Mama!” Delphi stands, knocking her chair over and rattling the kitchen table. “Everyone’s going to be swarming our house soon enough to get their clothes tailored, I want it to get done before that happens.”

“Your sister isn’t a pack mule.” Mama takes the blouse and needle out of my hands, setting them next to the hearth. “Your soup will get cold if you don’t eat it soon.”

I reach for my crutch, hobbling toward where the rest of my family is seated. I see that Papa has made use of the tesserae grain that I received a few days ago; the bread is lumpy and I can tell will be hard to chew. 

“Why can’t we eat real bread?” Juniper mumbles. 

“This is real bread.” Mama shoots her a look. “Your father worked hard to make this for you.”

Juniper takes a bite and swallows, her nose wrinkled. 

“Be thankful we have extra food,” Papa says. “We’ll need it once winter comes.” 

“Isn’t it cheating, though?” Delphi sips at her soup. “Isn’t is unfair that Talia gets extra food for us when we know she’s safe?”

Everyone seems to freeze. “Delphinia Kinnimonth, watch your mouth,” Mama says.

“But...she’s right.” I curl the toes of my right foot. “We’re stealing extra food and that’s wrong.”

“We need it,” Papa says. “Once we get snow, we won’t be able to grow anything for at least three months.”

“And what about other families that need food?”

“We give what we don’t need to our neighbors.” Mama sighs. “Talia, we don’t have another choice.”

“We have a choice of eating better bread,” Juniper pips up. 

Mama glares at her and Delphi. “Both of you, to your room.” 

Delphi grabs a clump of bread and stuffs it in her face, trying to chew it as she walks down the hallway. Juniper follows, sniffling.

Papa places his hand over mine. “This isn’t a crime, Talia. We need food, we need to survive.”

“And getting extra tesserae when we all know I won’t be reaped is moral?”

Mama sucks in a breath. “You know what would happen if you were in the Games.” Her eyes drift down to my left leg, to the stump below my knee. 

“But having someone else take my place if my name is called, just so we can have tesserae...” 

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Delphi certainly thinks so, but I don’t want to say that to our parents. She’s in enough trouble already.

“We love you, Talia.” Papa gives me a sad smile. “We want you to have a good life.”

I nod, starting to eat my soup. It’s cold.

***

We have bread in District 9, but what Juniper doesn’t understand is that the bread she sees in the bakery window is too expensive for us. We have to make do with loaves that are too mushy, too stale, too burnt. For all the hard work our parents and Delphi do in the fields, they come home every day to a meager supper made from what little wheat they’re allowed to take with them.

Over the next week, more and more of our neighbors pass through our living room, asking me to mend their nicer clothing. It’s only brought out once a year, but with all the fussing done in these two weeks, it makes sense that they find minuscule flaws that must be fixed. 

I have to charge for my services; one leg is not enough to get me a job doing physical labor. I can barely make it to the bakery on my crutch, even with Juniper supporting me. She’s home from school, and her eyes are bright as she helps me inside.

“Hello, girls.” Mrs. Saggitaria Selkirk is wiping flour from her hands, a cloud of it settling on her already graying hair. “What can I do for you today?”

I nudge Juniper forward, smiling a little as she bounces on her heels. “We’d like one loaf of bread, please! We have enough to buy it because Talia’s been sewing people’s clothes!”

“You’re in luck, I just took one out of the oven not too long ago.” Saggitaria’s wrinkled eyes turn to me. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for the wonderful job you did on my Gregor’s trousers. Those patches were starting to chafe his skin.”

“You’re welcome.” I feel my cheeks turn pink. “It was really no trouble at all.”

“Oh, nonsense. You have a gift, Talia.” She finishes wrapping the bread and hands it to Juniper. “Without you, we wouldn’t look nearly as well put-together.”

We’re halfway home when Juniper starts begging to eat a piece. “Wait until dinner. Mama and Papa will know how to make it last for the week.”

Juniper sighs, her lower lip sticking out slightly. “Will they be upset that we bought this?”

“If they are, tell them it was my idea.” It’s not a lie, and I feel oddly proud of myself. My parents see me as the one to bring in extra food because of my condition. I don’t see why I can’t do so on my own terms.


	3. Chapter II

The deal we made with the rest of District 9 was done quietly. It passed through like a ripple, to ensure the peacekeepers didn’t hear. It’s still a wonder to me how no one let it slip, but I suppose being the best tailor comes with that sort of benefit. Or maybe the people of this district cared for me more than I had previously assumed.

Taking tesserae meant more food, but it also meant more times my name went into the reaping ball. It was the same for everyone. With my leg and being from such a poor district, we all knew what would happen if I were ever reaped. And so someone was chosen to volunteer if that ever happened. Of course, because so many of us had to take extra food, my odds were about the same as everyone else’s.

“I don’t like putting it up.” Juniper folds her arms as Mama pulled a brush through her dark brown hair. “Why do I have to?”

“It’s only once a year, sweetheart.” Mama ties a strip of cloth at the end of the braid she’s made. “It’s a rule, we have to look our best.”

“Maybe I don’t want to look my best,” Juniper mumbles, glaring at her reflection in our cracked mirror. 

“It’s only for a few hours,” Papa says. He and I are wrestling with Delphi’s hair, trying to pile it into a bun. “Delphi, you really ought to get your hair cut a little shorter.”

“But it doesn’t look nearly as nice when it’s short.” She huffs out a sigh. “Papa, you’re bald, you don’t understand.”

His jaw clenches as he picks up another pin. “I believe I do. All too well.”

Once Delphi’s taken care of, I hobble into my room, closing the door. My reaping dress is white, yellowing at the edges from dust. It’s starting to pull at the middle, the sleeves tight against my shoulders; I try not to wince when the fabric stretches as I stand.

We sit quietly in our living room, watching the Reapings in other districts. The tributes in 1 and 2 are thrilled to be chosen; the girl from 1 and the boy from 2 volunteer willingly, proudly announcing it to the cameras as they walk to the stage. It’s likely one of them will be the victor this year, as it is almost every year. 

After District 8′s reaping, the bell sounds, the five of us growing still. Papa holds the door open and we file out, joining the stream of others making their way to the Justice Building. We go slowly, to not tire me out, but it seems that everyone else wants to prolong their arrival on purpose.

Mama and Papa stand near the back of the crowd with Juniper, while Delphi and I take our places among the girls our age. The tribute escort, a portly man with bright orange hair and striped skin, makes a speech before talking about the tributes still living. We have four - two graying women, a man with a scar across his face, and a girl who won two years ago. They stand in a line as their names are called, and the crowd claps when instructed to.

The escort goes to the two glass balls on the stage, and the air stills as we wait for him to read the names he has chosen. The boy is fourteen, dreary-eyed and slouched slightly in his stance. The girl is the daughter of our neighbors, the Loweneks; she’s Delphi’s age, fifteen, tears already on her freckled cheeks.

We are allowed to go home afterward to watch the Reapings in the remaining districts. The one in 12 is the most memorable this year, because a girl volunteered for her sister, which almost never happens in the poorer districts. It makes me wonder if Delphi would volunteer for me if I were ever chosen.

I am about to go to bed when I hear Mama answers a knock at our door. “Sabille…what are you doing here at this hour?”

I sneak out of my room to find Delphi and Juniper at the end of the hall, hiding and watching already. “Mrs. Lowenek’s here,” Juniper tells me. “I don’t think she’s very happy.”

I see Delphi roll her eyes, but she says nothing.

"I’m…I’m terribly sorry about Laurel,” Mama says.

“No, you’re not. Don’t you lie to me, Alodia.”

“Sabille -”

“I’m sure you can take comfort in the fact that one of your daughters is safe. Some of us weren’t so lucky to be blessed with missing limbs.”

Papa rises from his chair by the fire. “It would be best if you went home now -”

“You think you can take as much food as you want and the peacekeepers are non the wiser because we’ve all agreed to protect that useless one-legged wretch!” She’s shouting in Mama’s face, and I feel myself shrinking back with each word she spits. “My daughter is gone now. Laurel is gone. Do you know what the last thing she said to me was? ‘Don’t cry when I die, Mother. Please don’t cry.’”

“Sabille…” Mama shakes her head. 

“This has been going on for too long now.” Mrs. Lowenek glares at my parents through her tears. “Next year will be a Quarter Quell. If you don’t call off this flimsy protection on your daughter, I’ll see to it that she’s reaped, and you won’t be able to steal food.”

“That’s enough, Sabille,” Papa says. 

“I’ll do it!” she cries as they usher her out and shut the door. “You can’t protect her forever!” 

The three of us have gone back to our rooms. I sit against my door, staring at the wall for what feels like hours. I fall asleep on the floor, shivering, refusing to fetch a blanket from my bed.


	4. Chapter III

A REMINDER TO THE CITIZENS OF PANEM

Work and school hours have been adjusted accordingly to accommodate for the 74th annual Hunger Games. Everyone is required to watch all pre- and post-Game events, either in the privacy of their homes or at the Justice Buildings - NO EXCEPTIONS. Failure to comply with these rules will result in disciplinary action, by order of President Coriolanus Snow. 

Enjoy the Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor.

***

Dear Kestrel and Alodia,

I’m writing this to apologize on behalf of my wife and our family. She had no reason to insult your daughter and threaten you the way she did. Rest assured she won’t say a word to the peacekeepers. She’s upset, understandably so, and I ask that you remember that. 

I think it’s best if we don’t speak for a while, at least until the Victor Tour is finished. I don’t want to risk upsetting Sabille again, because it very well could be public. And that would mean trouble for all of us.

Please keep Laurel in your thoughts over these next two weeks. We’re not expecting to see her again.

~Warren Lowenek

***

Kestrel - burn this as soon as you read it. There may be a way to keep our families safe from the Games. Still looking for answers. Don’t let anyone know. District 13 may not be gone.


End file.
